The Wolf, the Fox, and the Bull
by Bear-Bell
Summary: When Jaqen H'ghar tells Arya that the Red God is owed three lives, Arya decides to follow the tradition of the North and take the lives herself. Jaqen approves. A/U
1. The Mouse

By the time Arya lit her stub of a candle, only a faint smell remained of him, a whiff of ginger and cloves lingering in the air.

_Three names_, Arya thought. Three names she could strike out of her nightly prayers. Maybe Jaqen H'ghar could even get Neddle back for her. If she had Needle, she wouldn't be such a mouse. If she had Needle, maybe she could escape Harrenhal and find her family.

Although, if he refused to take her to Riverrun, she doubted he would fetch Needle for her, either.

_This girl took three that were his. This girl must give three in their places. Speak the name, and the man will do the rest_.

It sounded easy. Too easy.

* * *

><p>She wasn't supposed to be in Kingspyre Tower, but she needed to find Jaqen H'ghar. She saw him about the castle from time to time, but only when there were others gathered about. She didn't want to risk speaking to him where others might notice her presence and ask questions.<p>

After asking one of the servants where his rooms were, Arya quietly crept into the tower where Jaqen H'ghar slept. Weese would kill her if he found out she wasn't serving at dinner like she was supposed to, but she didn't intend for Weese to ever find out she was missing.

Arya wondered if the man knew she was looking for him. He'd left the feast early and alone. She _hoped_ he was expecting her, because she didn't know what she would do if she knocked on the door to his chambers and found him in a meeting with someone. She had no business in this area of Harrenhal, and anyone who caught her here would know it.

_Fear cuts deeper than swords_, she reminded herself as she raised her hand to his door. She sent a silent prayer to the Old Gods asking that she find the man here, and alone.

The door opened at her knock, and she found Jaqen H'ghar smiling down at her. He had been preparing for bed, with his armor and boots removed.

"A girl has made her decision?" he asked.

"I – yes. I have," she breathed.

"Come, sweet girl. Sit." He held the door open for her, and she darted into the safe privacy of the room.

Jaqen's room was small and sparsely furnished. The bed took up most of the room's space, and a small table with a single cramped chair was next to the hearth. On the table was a long sword and a whet stone – she had interrupted him while he was sharpening the steel. A small basin of water sat next to the window, and the man's armor was piled at the foot of his bed.

After her cursory inspection of the room, Arya's eyes were drawn to the sword lying on the table. It was almost as big as she was, and she wondered at the lithe man's ability to properly wield a sword of that size.

She went to the table and ran a finger along the cold steel, once again wishing for her Needle.

"Sit," the man commanded for a second time.

Arya sat in the only chair, fidgeting with the ends of her long sleeves. Jaqen went to kneel by his bed. From beneath, he pulled out a small box, a flagon of wine, and two cups. After pouring wine for them both, he revealed half a loaf of bread stored inside the box. He tore off no more than a bite for himself and set the rest in front of Arya. Then, the man sat on his bed and reclined comfortably against his pillows, waiting patiently as Arya hungrily tore into the fresh, fluffy bread. After months of eating stale bread, partially rotted meat, and _bugs_, she had almost forgotten what proper food tasted like. For a few moments, with good food in her mouth and sitting next to the warm fire of the hearth, she was almost _comfortable_. The sensation was foreign, but welcome.

When she had finished enjoying her impromptu meal, Jaqen H'ghar finally spoke.

"What names will a girl give a man?" he asked before taking a small sip of his wine.

Arya paused, because_ King Joffery, Queen Cersei, Ser Ilyn, and a man will do the rest. _But instead, she whispered, "I... None."

His eyebrows rose – the expression wasn't one of surprise or confusion, but amusement. "A girl has no one she wishes to give to the Red God?" he asked.

"That's not it. There are several people here in Harrenhal who I would _gladly_ give to your god."

"And you would not give a man these names?" he asked.

"No. My father used to tell my brothers... He told Robb and Jon that killing should never be easy."

"Just so," Jaqen agreed, his head tilting forward in gentle agreement. "A man has worked long and hard for his ability. The deed will not be easy, especially if a man is to avoid detection."

"But it would be easy for _me_," Arya quietly explained. "The Kings and Lords of the North never used headmen to carry out executions, did you know?"

"A man has heard," Jaqen H'ghar agreed.

"My father told my brothers that killing should never be easy, and the man who passes the sentence should be the one to swing the sword. So... if the Red God is owed names and the names are mine to give, then they should also be mine to take."

Arya remembered her dreams, the bloody ones she often had after whispering her names in the quiet of the night. In them, she had her Needle and her wolf, and the three of them would dance and bite and claw, circling their pray and delivering their own brand of justice. Those dreams were the best, and the words she gave to Jaqen... they felt right.

And in reply to her declaration, Jaqen H'ghar smiled. "A girl speaks true. So be it."

* * *

><p>Arya awoke when a sharp, stinging kick was delivered to her side.<p>

"Get up, Weasel," Weese snarled.

Arya jerked upright and rubbed at the skin of her ribs.

"Get up, I said!" Weese snapped once again, and she had to dodge his foot swinging towards her legs.

Arya stumbled to her feet, still blurry eyed and confused. Weese was in a rare fury. He hadn't woken only Arya, but every person sleeping in the hall with his loud demands.

When she was standing, a bundle of clothes was thrust into Arya's arms. "Get to Kingspyre Tower," Weese demanded. "You're to serve our new castellan."

It took Arya's sleepy mind a few moments to put the pieces together – She was serving, personally serving the castellan? in Kingspire Tower – who in Kingspire Tower would want her –

_Jaqen H'ghar, _she thought.

It has been almost a fortnight since she'd snuck into the man's rooms and told him that she'd be taking the names herself. After her announcement, he'd let her out of his room and they hadn't spoken since. She _thought_ they were through with each other.

In conformation of her suspicions, Weese asked, "You know the man with the red and white hair, girl?"

Arya numbly nodded. _What is __that man__ doing?_ she wondered.

"You're to serve him now," Weese snarled.

No wonder the man was so angry. She was to serve one of Lord Tywin's men in Kingspyre Tower. And not just anyone – the castellan, apparently. Weasel would be of almost the same station as Weese. She might be of a _higher_ station than Weese, depending on what, exactly, Jaqen H'ghar demanded of her.

As if sensing her satisfaction, Weese leaned in close to her face, and Arya forced herself not to lean away from his putrid breath as he said, "You'd better watch yourself, Weasel. That man is dangerous, and he won't be _nearly_ as forgiving as I am. He'll eat you alive if you give him half the chance."

Weese was confusing Jaqen H'ghar with Bitter, Arya thought. Jaqen H'ghar may have been in chains and headed for the Wall when she'd first seen him, but he called her a sweet girl, he gave her food, and he was getting her away from Weese.

_What is he doing?_ she wondered once again.

"Go," Weese commanded, giving her a shove. "He'll be expecting breakfast, and soon. It would be a _pity_ if he had you flogged on your first morning as his cup barer."

Arya could almost smell the man's resentment, and she didn't pay his words a second thought as she rushed to the baths. Quickly, she washed herself, discarded her old, dirty gray shift, and donned her new dress. The linen was simple, a faded blue with patched elbows and frayed hems, but the dress was of a better quality than the wool shifts she'd worn before, and far less scratchy. She was also given breeches to wear beneath the skirt, and sturdy, if worn, boots. She was particularly pleased when she realized that the boots were intended for a boy.

_What is he doing?_ she wondered as she started towards the kitchens to retrieve some breakfast for the man.

As she made her way through the halls, she became uneasy when she realized that people were _noticing_ her. None of Lannister's soldiers payed her any mind, but the servants of the castle shot her glances and frowns. As a mouse, she was rarely spared a second glance. But now, she was the focus of speculative stares and curious glances. She could feel the eyes trained on her back, and after weeks of relative anonymity, the sensation made her uneasy.

In the kitchens, Hot Pie found her almost immediately.

He took one look at her clean, well fitting linen dress and said, "It's true. You're going to be the servant for that Braavosi man."

Arya nodded. "People are talking about it?"

Hot Pie nodded. "It's all _anyone_ can talk about. Not you, I mean, but... Last night, Tywin Lannister announced that he would be marching from Harrenhall. At first he said Amory Lorch would be in charge of the castle while he was gone, but then this morning he said Jaqen H'ghar would be in charge, instead."

Arya blinked in astonishment, wondering how such a thing came about. While the older women in the castle certainly noticed the interesting, handsome foreigner, Jaqen H'ghar hadn't done anything to set himself apart from any other soldier or sell sword under Lannister's command. At least, he hadn't done anything that Arya had heard word of.

Weese had warned her, though, just that morning, that Jaqen was a dangerous man. He must know something about Jaqen that Arya didn't.

Or maybe Weese didn't know anything at all, and he truly _was_ only trying to give Arya one last scare before she was completely out from under his thumb.

"Why did he name you, though?" Hot Pie asked her as he began making a plate for her to take to Kingspyre Tower. "If he wanted someone he knew, he could have asked for me, or Gendry. We were headed for the Night's Watch, too-"

"Shut your mouth, Hot Pie," Arya hissed. "No one here knows that I was dressed as a boy and headed for the Night's Watch with Yoren. I intend to keep it that way."

"Okay, okay," Hot Pie murmured, seeming properly chastised. But then, he had to open his mouth again. "But why did he choose _you_?"

"Don't worry about it, stupid,"Arya snapped. Before he could open his big mouth again, Arya snatched the platter of food from his hands and hurried from the kitchen and towards the tower.

When she found Jaqen H'ghar, he wasn't in the same small room he had been staying in, before. Instead, she found him in a much more spacious room on a higher floor of the tower. Upon her entrance, she found three women pouring heated water into a basin for Jaqen's bath, and two other servants arranging the room to his liking.

Upon Arya's arrival with the food, the servants quickly finished with their business and cleared the room.

Jaqen H'ghar sat at a desk looking over maps and parchment. He was still in his sleeping dress, and he was humming quietly to himself.

"What are you doing?" Arya blurted out as she unceremoniously set the platter on the desk next to the maps and letters.

The man smiled. "A girl wishes to deliver the names herself, correct?"

"Well, yes," she told him.

"Then a man will make it so," he promised. Arya hadn't seen any weapons on the desk when she had approached, but at his promise, he slid a small dagger across the wood towards her. "A girl will wear this in her sleeve," he instructed.

"Truly?" Arya asked.

"Truly," he answered.

A/N: I own nothing and no one (except for myself, but I'm not in this story). I hope you liked it! I don't have a beta, so I apologize for any mistakes. Review and tell me what you think!


	2. The Ghost of Harrenhal

The man was... frustrating, at best. At worst, he was infuriating and overwhelming. He spoke in riddles and demanded perfection of Arya's every action, be it building a fire in the hearth, calling the dagger from it's hidden place up her sleeve and into her hand, or _noticing_ things about people.

Jaqen H'ghar took his role as an instructor very seriously, and he seemed to find some lesson to teach her with every breath and step she took.

Within a few days of serving under Jaqen H'ghar, Weasel developed a reputation for being clumsy. Lannister's soldiers laughed openly when she tripped over thin air and frequently bumped into walls. Then, the other servants scowled when she spilled wine or dropped stacks of parchment. Arya wondered how no one ever saw that it was Jaqen H'ghar tangling her feet together and setting her off balance.

"A girl should not be so easily toppled," Jaqen H'ghar would tell her if she complained. "A girl must find her center and give attention to her surroundings. Counter a man's attacks."

At night, in the comfort of Jaqen H'ghar's spacious rooms, the two would talk in a way they couldn't during the day when Jaqen was in meetings with Tywin and Kevin Lannister, Gregor Clegan, or the Bloody Murmurs.

The first name she gave Jaqen H'ghar was King Joffery Baratheon.

"If anyone deserves death, it's him," she told Jaqen in the safety of the quiet night.

He allowed her to sleep in his large, plush goose down bed rather than the scratchy straw pallet which was left in a small, cramped cupbord for her to sleep in. By the time Arya felt comfortable enough to speak, the candles had been blown out and only embers remained glowing in the hearth, and the darkness of the room made it easy for speaking secrets to each other.

"The King is not here," Jaqen H'ghar replied, "and killing kings requires experience and skill which a girl has yet to master. What of the people in Harrenhal? A girl spoke of such when she announced she wished to preform the service herself."

Arya found it strange that when he spoke of killing, Jaqen called it a service.

Thinking of her names, she thought of who she hated the most, and who might be easiest to kill.

"Dunsen, Polliver, Chiswyck, Raff the Sweetling," she whispered then. For Gendry's helm, her Needle, the laughter, and for the spear through Lommy's throat. The others on her list were too important or too terrifying for her to approach or attack with any level of confidence.

"Dunsen, then," Jaqen H'ghar decided quietly. "A man will show a girl with this first name. He will then help a girl with two more."

Arya turned to her side so that she was facing the man, even though she couldn't see him in the dark. She could smell the spices on his skin as she breathed, the scent foreign, unfamiliar, and somehow dangerous, despite the amount of time she'd thus far spent in close proximity to the man.

_Fear cuts deeper than swords, _she reminded herself.

"And after?" she asked. "After the Red God has his due?"

Would he dismiss her as his servant when he was no longer obliged to help her pay the debt on his life? She felt safe with Jaqen H'ghar. Acting as his servant afforded her some amount of protection within the castle, and the lessons he gave her kept her from feeling like a small, helpless mouse. And if she was honest with herself, she was growing fond of the man, even if he gave her bruises during their lessons and made her head hurt with the way he talked.

"If a girl wishes to deal in Death, a man must ensure she can serve," was his quiet reply. "After the Red God has his due, a girl will learn her most important lesson."

"What lesson?" Arya asked.

"A man will explain," he promised. "Now, though, a girl must sleep."

* * *

><p>Jaqen H'ghar showed her the thread the next morning.<p>

From his desk, he retrieved a small, simple box. When he opened it, he revealed several spools of thread, needles, and a small tin of what looked like leather polish. Arya wondered if the man intended to get close to Dunsen by offering to repair the rips in his clothing. She had to stifle a giggle when she imagined Jaqen annoying Dunsen to death by poking him with a sewing needle over and over again.

"There are many ways to die," he told her. "A knife or sword is effective, but messy. Obvious. If a girl wishes to avoid suspicion, she need be subtle."

He reached into the box and pulled out a spool of thread. At first, Arya thought the thread was white, but when Jaqen handed her the spool, she realized that the thread was transparent and stiff. She ran her finger over the spooled thread and discovered that it was thin and soft, but when she pulled at it, there was no give. Even when she bit at it, it didn't rip like true thread would.

"What is this? Where did you get it?" Arya asked, because she'd never seen anything like it before.

"A man has friends who can do amazing things," he told her. "His friends are generous."

"So... what is it for?" Arya asked.

At her question, Jaqen reached for the leather polish. When he opened the tin, Arya saw that it didn't contain polish, but some sort of thick, gooey liquid.

"When this substance dries and hardens," he told her, "it takes great strength to pull anything stuck to it free. A man will place some of this on the wall next to the walkway and set one end of this thread to dry in the substance. As a man walks away, the thread will unravel along the length of the walkway. Remember: a man has said that people do not see what is in front of them. No person will look for this thread, so they will not see it. Once this deed is done, a man will hide in the shadows near the walkway, and when the Dead Man Dunsen walks across, a man will pull the thread as tightly as possible. When the thread catches Dunsen, he will be knocked over the side of the walkway. A man will pull the thread free of the substance, and place the thread back in the sewing box, where no one will think to find it. Dunsen's death will be an accident, yes?"

Arya let out a long breath. Jaqen's plan sounded impossible. She doubted it would happen the way he said it would.

But the next afternoon, while most of the soldiers and household were lunching, she watched quietly from the shadows beneath the walkway as Jaqen H'ghar casually leaned against the wall next to the walkway high above. He seemed to be reading a letter he'd retrieved from the maester, and even with Arya's new experience with watching people and seeing things, she saw nothing unusual in Jaqen's actions. She never saw retrieve the tin from where he'd stashed it in his pocket earlier that morning, and she didn't see him press his hand to the wall at any time.

But when he was finished reading over his letter, he began to walk across the walkway, and Arya could see sunlight flashing on the thread as the spool unrolled from his pocket. And even when she saw the glint and knew what it was, it didn't look like anything more than a single, delicate thread from a spider's web as it swayed in the wind.

After Jaqen had walked the length of the bridge and passed around a corner, the glint disappeared when the thread went slack and fell to rest on the wooden walk below.

It happened as Jaqen said it would. Nearly an hour latter, after watching a few dozen men walk across the walkway without incident, Dunsen appeared at the far end of the walkway, moving towards Jaqen's hiding spot. Arya didn't know how Jaqen could know the man was there since he was coming from the opposite direction and Jaqen was around the corner, but when Dunsen was halfway across the bridge, Arya saw the brief flash of a spider's web swaying in the wind before Dunsen suddenly unbalanced and began tipping over the side of the walkway.

A moment later, he was dead, and a familiar bull's helm was rolling away from Dunsen's broken and disfigured body.


	3. The Weasel

"I don't have anything like that thread, though," Arya told Jaqen later that night as they lay in bed.

"Just so," Jaqen H'ghar murmured. "A girl must be creative and learn to use what is available to her."

Polliver would be next, Arya knew. She thrilled at the knowledge that he would pay, that he would get what he deserved. But she felt uneasy when she remembered the stable boy and thought of the blood flowing out of his chest. _Killing should never be easy_, she remembered. And it wasn't. She understood that much. But just because it wasn't easy didn't mean that it didn't need to be done. Some people deserved to die. Some people _needed_ to die.

But Arya wasn't capable of killing people, not really. Not efficiently. Jaqen H'ghar and his lessons had made that much clear, at least.

_I'll have Needle back,_ she promised herself. _I'll never be a mouse again_.

But to get Needle back, Polliver needed to die. She needed to kill him.

She couldn't lure him away from the men he dined and trained with – people would notice him going off alone with Weasel. So she would have to study his habits and find him when he was alone. Then, she would have to make it look like an accident, a natural death. Like Dunsen. Jaqen had made Dunsen's death seem natural, even though people considered his fall strange. A strange fall, but a "natural" death all the same. Something that could easily be explained and go unquestioned, no matter how unlikely it seemed. That was Jaqen's trick.

Arya knew she couldn't stab Polliver or overpower him. So what _could_ she do?

Arya breathed deeply in frustration, and Jaqen H'ghar chuckled.

"Perhaps a man should teach some lessons sooner rather than later," he said into the darkness.

* * *

><p>"Have patience," Jaqen commanded. "These men are cruel and violent. They will meet their justice without the aid of a sweet girl. One way or another."<p>

From the shadow of two great wheel houses, Arya watched as the castle slowly but surely emptied. Specifically, she watched Polliver, Chiswyck and Raff the Sweetling as they saddled their horses and prepared to march out with the Lannister host. Needle still rested at Polliver's hip, and she cursed the man for it.

"Have patience," Jaqen said once again.

She tried to clear her mind of the names she had failed to take, for fear that her anger would overwhelm her. She still had her knife tucked away in the sleeve of her dress, and she was tempted to run across the yard and start stabbing at anyone within reach. Jaqen would be angry if she took such action, though. Reckless, he would call it. Undignified, intelligent, senseless. Dirty, he would say. And Arya would agree, no matter how much she craved the blood of those men. Killing should be hard, but keeping the kill clean, just, and inconspicuous would be even harder yet.

_Patience_, Arya heard, even though Jaqen hadn't said it out loud. It was the lesson she needed to learn, and it was the lesson Jaqen was teaching her that day. Arya had heard him speak the word so many times that morning that she was now hearing it in her head. It overpowered _Fear cuts deeper than swords_ and _Killing should never be easy_. It was a prayer to stay her hand along with her rage. _Patience, patience, patience. _

So she tried not to think of all the names which were escaping Harrenhal that day.

But when she didn't think about her names, she thought about Tywin and Kevin Lannister, as well as the Mountain.

"They intend to kill my brother," she said bitterly. "If we can stop them-"

"The Red God will have his due, sweet girl," Jaqen reminded her. "Death pays for life, but remember, life does not pay for death."

Arya frowned. She didn't understand the difference.

"We could stop them from killing my brother, though," she said once again. It was the only argument she had given ever since she'd learned that the Lannister host was marching.

"Just so," the man agreed. "But if the Red God demands life, the life will be had. In one way or another."

"I stole _you_ from the Red God," Arya pointed out.

"And two others, as well. This is why we must grant three in our places, else the Red God will come again."

Arya's eyes slid across the yard to Rorge and Bitter. The two wouldn't be riding out with Tywin Lannister, but with Vargo Hoat and the Bloody Murmurs, instead. They weren't leaving until after the Lannister host was well clear of Harrenhal, but while Tywin's army set out to march, the two men and their companions were loitering in the yard making general nuisances of themselves. In the fortnight since she'd become Jaqen H'ghar's servant (his student, his squire she delighted in privately thinking to herself), she'd run into Yorren's other two Black Cell recruits a handful of times. Those two were _not_ grateful to Arya in the slightest for saving their lives. They actively went out of their ways to threaten her and say nasty things about her "position" with Jaqen H'ghar.

"The Red God can have them," she declared. "We've already taken Dunsen for you, so we can leave those men to the Red God's mercy."

Jaqen chuckled. Gently, he smoothed her hair away from her face, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. Usually, he wouldn't dare show her such affection where others could see them, but they were well hidden by the wheel houses, and the people scurrying about the yard were too busy preparing for Tywin's march to pay any attention to two shadows and their whispers.

"The debt is not so easily settled," Jaqen told her. "The exchange of life for death would not be possible if the Red God were... particular about his due. You could take a life and leave two, but the Red God might still take this man and leave one of the others, instead."

Arya frowned.

Jaqen's fingers smoothed away the crease between her eyes. For a moment, Arya's frown grew more fierce, but then she relaxed the muscles of her face, the way Jaqen had been telling her to.

"What has a man told a girl?" he asked.

He often asked this, after they had discussions similar to the one they were having now. Jaqen said it was so he understood that she understood, but the man talked in circles so often that sometimes, she didn't understand at all.

She thought she understood his words now, though. She couldn't keep the frustration and discontent from her tone as she told him, "To save my brother... I'd have to steal him from the Red God, like I stole you. I'd have to _be there_."

"Just so," he murmured.

"Then we need to go to him!" she said insistently.

She had this argument with Jaqen almost every day; she insisted that they needed to go to her family, and he insisted, "Not everyone can be saved."

Arya wanted to stomp her feet and scream, but Jaqen always frowned when she "pretended to be a child," as he said. And every day that passed, her stomach knotted more and more fiercely with every frown he gave her. She was growing to depend and care for the man. She was sure of this, because only her parents had ever managed to make her feel such shame before.

So instead of having a tantrum, small or otherwise, she asked, "Who _can_ I save, then?"

"Yourself," Jaqen answered immediately.

"Except I can't," she replied just as quickly. Her capture and subsequent servitude was proof of that. Jaqen had to rescue her from obscurity, just as she'd had to rescue him from the fire.

"Not yet," Jaqen agreed with one of his small, easy smiles. "Now go, sweet girl. Send the letters written this morning. A man will be taking stock of the castle's supplies until dinner. We will eat in my chambers tonight."

Jaqen moved easily from the shadows of the carriages just as some stable boys arrived to harness several great destryers to the carriages.

Arya moved to follow Jaqen towards the castle, but froze as she spotted someone standing across the yard.

It was Gendry. He held half a dozen bundled swords. He looked to have been carrying them towards a group of armored soldiers who were preparing to mount their horses, but he'd stopped ten yards away from them and was staring directly at Arya.

He'd been there long enough, seen enough, that an angry scowl was pulling his lips downwards, and he had that stupid look on his face that meant he was thinking too hard.

Just then, the soldiers awaiting their weapons noticed him, and they especially noticed his inactivity. One of them called out to him, and the idiot didn't respond, so another man marched over to the blacksmith and gave his leg a hard kick.

As Gendry turned his attention to the impatient soldiers, Arya snorted. _That's what the stupid bull gets for snooping,_ Arya thought.

**A/N: I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Review, please! Tell me what you think! Also, tell me if you noticed any errors, please. Next chapter: The Weasel grants the Red God another life.**


	4. The Gods Provide

The day before the Brave Companions left Harrenhall, Jaqen H'ghar gave Arya a list of items she was to gather.

"What's all this for?" she asked as she looked over the list – boots, breaches, cloaks (clothes for traveling, she realized), five swords, two practice swords, skinning knives, rope for trapping, a length of canvas, bedrolls-

"Our time here grows short," Jaqen informed her. "A girl must help prepare for the journey."

Hope swelled in Arya's chest. "We're leaving?" She bit her lip, because she didn't know, not truly, if _Jaqen_ knew. She didn't know if he knew about her and her true name. She was learning to trust him, though, so she whispered, "Can we go to Winterfell?"

"No," he answered. And when he continued to say, "We will go to Riverrun, maybe. Braavos, probably," she knew that he _did_ know.

"Why don't we go North? My mother and brothers-"

"Sit down, sweet girl," Jaqen demanded. When Arya didn't immediately comply, he set a hand on her shoulder and led her to the chair at his desk. As she sat down, he ran his fingers over a parchment sitting on the desk in front of her. "The maester gave a man grave news this morning. Winterfell has been captured. A girl's younger brothers are the hostages of Theon Grayjoy and his Iron Men."

"Theon?" Arya breathed.

Why would he... He couldn't have... He wouldn't...

"He wouldn't hurt... He and Robb were close. They were like brothers. My father raised Theon like one of his own, and he knows Bran and Rickon..."

"Ambition and power changes people, sweet girl," Jaqen gently explained. "This Theon Grayjoy saw that Winterfell and those boys could be exploited, and he chose to betray those who had shown him kindness."

"But he and Robb..."

"He and Robb will love each other no more," Jaqen told her firmly. "A King cannot forgive treason, regardless of love. Not if he would remain King and maintain control of his lands."

Treason. Theon Grayjoy had committed treason.

"We have to-"

"There is nothing to do," Jaqen forcefully interrupted. "A girl must remember, not everyone can be saved."

"But my brothers-"

"A girl can only save herself," he interrupted again.

The reminder gave Arya pause.

"A man has been in contact with his brothers," Jaqen informed her. "These lands grow more dangerous with every passing day, and the future is uncertain. A man will provide safety for a girl until such a time that she truly can protect herself and reclaim what is rightfully hers. Now go, gather the items needed."

* * *

><p>Patience, Jaqen told her, was key. The Red God took names every day without intervention, and when intervention was required, the Red God provided opportunities for his servants to fulfill their duties.<p>

Arya wasn't the Red God's servant, not like Jaqen was, but she was delighted when she recognized an opportunity in the form of Amory Lorch that morning.

After Jaqen H'ghar gave her the list of items needed for their journey from Harrenhal, she hurried towards the armory, towards the swords, towards the items she wanted to collect most of all. _Two wooden swords_, the man had written with scratchy, but neat, letters. _One of those is for me_, she thought.

So that morning, she could hardly keep herself from running towards the armory in her excitement, but when she found several of the Brave Companions loitering near the entrance and gathering supplies for their journey the next day, she turned away from the doors. After the larger part of the Lanister host had marched, the Bloody Murmurs had become rowdier and bolder, and the servants avoided the men when possible for fear of torment or injury.

Arya thought she might be in danger of running into one of the men in the kitchen or store house as well, so she chose to go to the one area of the castle that the Bloody Murmurs could be counted on to avoid: the bathhouse. Soap was on the list of items she needed to gather, and it was the safest item for her to find until the Bloody Murmurs had finished with their own preparations.

The bathhouse was where she found Ser Amory Lorch, cursing about shit and Lannisters as he readied for a bath. A servant was setting out a dry cloth for him to use after he was clean, and when the man was undressed, the servant gathered his dirty clothes for the launder and took Lorch's boots to polish while the man was in the bath. Lorch was in a nasty mood, and the servant rushed to escape the bathhouse and the man's rage.

Neither Lorch nor the servant noticed Arya entering, and Arya hid a small grin as she recognized her opportunity.

As Lorch marched towards one of the steaming baths, Arya crept up behind him, walking heel-to-toe like Jaqen had shown her. Lorch didn't see her, and if she made any noise, he couldn't hear her over the sounds of his own muttering. She reached him just as he raised a foot to step into a bath, and with a vicious kick, she knocked his other leg out from under him. She jumped back to avoid his flailing limbs, slipped on the wet ground, and landed hard on her bottom. Amory Lorch's legs splashed into the water, but the rest of him landed hard on and side of the tub, and Arya couldn't help but flinch in sympathy at the sound his head made as it bounced against the floor.

The fall didn't kill him, but his head was bleeding and the man was dazed. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly, his eyes were wide and unseeing, and when he tried to get his arms under him they were wobbly with the effort. Quickly, Arya regained her feet and with one more vicious kick, Arya pushed him the rest of the way into the water.

As he floundered in the water, she wondered if she'd have to hold him under. But he couldn't find purchase with his uncoordinated limbs, and the water was quickly turning pink from the blood pouring from his head wound. Arya backed away from the pool, her hands shaking as her heart beat strong and fast. Lorch's struggling was splashing water onto the floor around the pool, and she moved further away to avoid getting water on her boots or dress. But even as she watched, the water's churning calmed to small, sporadic splashes, then stilled completely. In a few short moments, the surface of the pool was once again calm and smooth, the water now pink and steaming. When Amory Lorch's motionless back broke the surface of the water, Arya returned to the far wall of the bathhouse. She grabbed two small bars of soap, and she made her way from the silent, steamy hall and returned to Kingspyer Tower.

* * *

><p>"This was a girl's doing?" Jaqen asked quietly when he heard about Amory Lorch at dinner that evening. He'd been busy preparing for the Brave Companions' departure, and Arya hadn't had the chance to tell him what she'd done. But during the leaving feast, he heard several of the men laughing about Lorch's clumsy death, and Jaqen motioned Arya to pour him some wine. He whispered the question as she was leaning over him to reach his cup.<p>

"The gods provided me with an opportunity," she answered just as quietly.

He didn't respond, but as he finished his dinner, he looked over the feast with one of those small smiles he gave her whenever he was amused or happy.

Arya had to work hard to repress her own satisfied smile.


End file.
